


I Love Thee to the Depth My Soul Can Reach

by cherry_knots



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: And they sure love the hell out of each other, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Future Fic, Loving and emotionally-charged smut is the best kind of smut, Resolved Sexual Tension, So calm yourselves, They are both of age, post-season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-08
Updated: 2019-11-08
Packaged: 2021-02-01 03:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21355984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherry_knots/pseuds/cherry_knots
Summary: 'It was then that he noticed that the corner of her lips was stained with a smudge of apple pie. Immediately he drew a finger forward to wipe it off, but she stopped him midway. "Not with that," she whispered.'In which Anne seduces Gilbert with her finest apple pie and his favorite dress.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 7
Kudos: 521





	I Love Thee to the Depth My Soul Can Reach

**Author's Note:**

> (Title originates from Elizabeth Bennet Browning's 1850 poem 'Sonnets from the Portuguese 43')

It began that lush and mellow summer morning, when Ruby and Moody Spurgeon MacPherson had offered them both for a ride to a friend’s wedding. Moody held the reins firmly and clucked as the horse and buggy clipped and trundled along a long and spacious dirt road; while he remained silent for most of the trip, Ruby gushed incessantly about the bliss and joys of domestic life. Meanwhile, Anne and Gilbert were subjected to sitting in the back seat and eventually pretending to be remotely interested in their marital anecdotes. Ruby dragged on about how wonderful it was to be a minister’s wife, and how everyday she felt pure and good simply by being one; Moody claimed that Ruby looked prettier every time she rose out of bed and that he sang and strummed a merry tune on his banjo for her every day. It was obvious that they still carried the newlywed glow that blinded them to any possible flaws or shortcomings between them, and that the complications of marriage had yet to sink in.

Anne leaned closer to Gilbert; sometimes they’d play a little game in order to escape any unwanted situations together. “Verb meaning to annoy or vex?”

Gilbert stroked his chin and murmured, “Past or present tense?”

She rolled her eyes. “Does it matter? It begins with the letter N.”

He chuckled. “Nettled.”

“By the way,” said Ruby, turning to look at the both of them, her face still stamped with the biggest lovesick smile, “have either of you ever considered settling down any time soon?”

Anne bit her lip and swivelled her glance towards Gilbert; an instinct that she’d come to rely on far too much. They still hadn’t told anyone yet. “Why do you ask?” she replied innocently.

Ruby’s interrogation was ruthless. “How come you and Gilbert decided to go together?”

“Oh, you know why. Diana’s still in finishing school and I couldn’t find anybody else –”

“You know that Tillie hasn’t been seeing anybody since that dreadful incident with the two Pauls. She’s still not over it, but she would have been most perfectly happy to accompany you to the wedding since” – Ruby’s side eye was uncomfortably glaring – “you haven’t any fiancé or _husband_.”

Their original plan had been to ride together on Gilbert’s buggy, park as discreetly as possible, and enter the building separately, but Anne had supposed that even if one of the buggy’s wheels hadn’t broken down at the last minute the plan would have fallen apart spectacularly. As a woman, her solitude at the wedding would have been undoubtedly questioned by everybody else. But nobody else could know of the unprecedented turn their relationship had taken, unless they intended to get engaged next week. Gilbert was in Avonlea for the summer but come the fall he’d have to return to medical school, and Anne was equally busy teaching at their old school. Though they found themselves with less and less time to spend with each other, at least they’d managed to get together in Charlottetown for Gilbert’s twentieth birthday. For now, however, they’d agreed to hold off any thoughts of engagement until they had the one thing they couldn’t afford in abundance at that present moment: time.

“Word meaning fatigued or disinterested?” Gilbert whispered to her as Moody and Ruby lost themselves in their own idle chatter.

“Jaded,” Anne answered in a flash. “How very apt.”

There was something about the dress that Anne wore for the wedding that truly brought out her remarkable ethereality. He didn’t wish to admit it out loud, but Gilbert reckoned it was his favorite on her. It was a pale chartreuse tea gown, made out of the softest silk, with a white apple blossom and ivy pattern embroidered all over the torso and skirt, coiling around her body in a way that both deeply unsettled and titillated him. He couldn’t help but place his fingers on the cuff and brush them along the length of the sleeve. Anne noticed and drew back gently but firmly.

“Don’t,” she told him. “They’ll get ideas.”

While he’d been away at medical school, she’d been over to the farm often; Bash occupied himself with running the farm, and Delly, now at the darling and fun age of three, was sprouting like a tree before their very eyes. She often took the gracious liberties of bringing food from Green Gables; Delly made the not-so-subtle remark that Aunt Marilla’s cooking tasted better than her father’s. At some point during her frequent visits, Anne had made the somewhat trivial discovery that Gilbert had left some of his medical information books at home. She assumed that the school provided their students with new, fresh copies, and out of sheer curiosity started to leaf through them. After all, if they were ever to be married one day, she’d need to know the important details of copulation and reproduction; the last thing she wanted was to feel small and ignorant and unsure of herself in comparison to his prestigiously educated mind on their wedding night.

When she’d cracked open a particularly thick volume on human anatomy, she flicked straight to the chapter concerning human reproduction, and was surprised at what she found. No pet mice or dancing or hand-holding. But then the idea grew more alluring and latched solidly to her thoughts. She was therefore even more surprised to discover that none of the chapter’s detailed diagrams or paragraphs revolted or bothered her in the least anymore, finding herself likening the woman to a labyrinth or cave filled with the most precious diamonds for the man to explore their depths and experience the thrill and wonder together. Furthermore she entertained the idea that the woman would only let her great love enter her cave, as it was extremely valuable and treasured and vital for the growth of buds that constituted new life. She imagined him sinking deeper into her, sharing her warmth, and finally discovering her, well and truly, for the first time. The longer she perused the thought, the more a strange, malignant heat started to simmer beneath the many layers of her skirts. It was a new feeling, or at least one she’d never before experienced in such urgency and intensity. She missed him dearly, and found that she not only wanted him with her, but also wanted him _on_ her, to feel her in every way he could. She wanted him, all of him, and only him.

All of this, of course, came after a decent higher education and a life in which she could realise her own ambitions and agency. But these gratifying yet scandalous desires were starting to creep up dangerously close.

He’d learnt much during his time at medical school, more than either the small town of Avonlea or even Dr. Ward himself could offer in terms of extensive and varying knowledge. Moreover, he enjoyed the vigour and diligence with which he and his fellow college students plunged themselves into their work; all the other young men were much more sophisticated, informed, and open-minded than the boys he grew up with back home. It also meant their brilliant and highly illuminated minds were supplemented with a variety of special techniques that they liked to try on other girls, occasionally on each other. They were an entirely different section from the cigar-smokers and the poker-players; anywhere where the teachers couldn’t hear them, they’d exchange salacious pointers on how to extract the carnal pleasure out of any woman using their alarmingly intricate knowledge of their reproductive organs. This happened frequently to the point where attempting to avoid such information was futile.

Before medical school, which at that point he was forced to share a dorm with other students, Gilbert would have nights alone in his bed where he’d feel restless and unable to sleep; it was then that his hand, seemingly divorced in its actions from his own rigid conscience and sensibilities, would wander down into his pants; he’d fondle himself lethargically and picture himself with one unspecified girl after another. It was not until more recently that these thousand faceless girls would all thin into a singular pinpoint: a vivid portrait, a hybrid wreath of carmine, scarlet, gold and auburn encircling a face that was both humanly celestial and celestially human. The memory of her stifled and consumed him like a rapidly smouldering fire, and the imprint of her neatly peppered little kisses along his face and neck – the idea that those same kisses may land upon the tip of himself which he now eagerly stroked – made him throb and writhe around beneath the sheets. He’d become more proficient at cleaning up his sins and transgressions – both mental and physical – afterwards.

During his last week in Avonlea, she’d made a decision. It was definitely rash, and arguably stupid. She wasn’t even entirely certain that he would go along with it. But she wanted to give him something to remember by. Something to keep folded up and tucked away in the pocket of his heart, something that reminded him that he would always be hers and she would always be his, and that nothing as inconvenient as distance could keep them apart in spirit. As of late she’d been apple-picking in the Blythe orchard, and by the end of the afternoon had the finest apple pie she’d ever baked. She was well aware that neither Bash or Delphine would be home that night, as they had departed with Marilla earlier that day to visit some old friends of Mary’s. After drawing herself a bath and cleansing herself of the day’s labor, along with making a few extra preparations, Anne brought the pie over to the Blythe farm to have one last meal with Gilbert alone.

He greeted her at the door, and pecked her sweetly on the cheek before letting her in. The house was awfully quiet without Bash’s tuneless whistling and Delly’s raucous playing and laughter, save for the low crackle of the fireplace in the living room. He was amazed to see that she’d chosen to wear that same ravishing green dress from the wedding, despite the informality of the occasion. She carefully placed a large basket, wrapped over with chequered cloth and containing the pie itself, upon the dining table before excusing herself. In the privacy of one of the guest bedrooms, she examined herself in the full-length mirror, turning this way and that, before gingerly unbuttoning the back of her dress. She knew that the material of the dress itself was translucent and that normally she’d have to wear something else underneath in order to prevent others from catching an inadvertently semi-clear glimpse of her corset and bare legs, despite much of the embroidered patterns covering a fair portion of whatever lay underneath. Nonetheless, she’d removed every single layer of underwear, including her corset and chemise, and only put the green dress back on. Her hair remained tightly coiled atop her head.

When she’d returned, he tried his best not to stare. The pattern concealed most of her front, around her waist and between her legs amongst other places, but despite this he could have sworn there was something off, something different about the dress along with how she carried herself. She seemed less relaxed in his presence and more uncertain and desperate; yet there was a forward and audacious air about her that was altogether intriguing. Before his mind could traverse into inescapably darker territory, he cleared his throat; they sat next to each other at the table and ate the apple pie in silence. As he watched her eat, he began to notice more. The dress, despite its relatively compact shape, appeared to be looser and fuller around the edges, almost as if a corset was absent. Her legs were delicately and deliberately crossed. There was more fluid movement visible around her chest whenever she shifted about the table. Every time she took a bite, she licked her lips slowly, which stirred something in him. Eventually they finished and walked together to the sink, where they rinsed their dishes. As soon as that was over they dried their hands and moved to the living room. It was then that he noticed that the corner of her lips was stained with a smudge of apple pie. Immediately he drew a finger forward to wipe it off, but she stopped him midway.

“Not with that,” she whispered. He suddenly understood exactly what she meant, and before either of them knew it their mouths had crashed together, both his hands cupping her face and his tongue extending out briefly to remove the offending stain as they fell together upon the couch before sliding onto the hearth rug. One by one the pins in her hair tumbled out, and all of her hair rapidly pooled and cascaded down her back. His entire weight pressed down on her and she could feel him hardening significantly. While he navigated the freckles on her wildly flushed cheeks, one of his hands slid down towards her waist, and while doing so felt a smooth and tingly sensation that coursed unexpectedly down his arm. He drew back and looked down in shock before sweeping his gaze towards her eyes, which glimmered a glassy teal in the firelight; while their gazes were held she dragged the other hand steadily towards her breast, and as he cradled it in his palm like a plump fruit and sensed its fullness, he began to realise completely that underneath the sheer fabric of the dress, she was all flesh. He shut his eyes and breathed heavily.

Again she took his hand and directed it to the hem of her skirts; it slipped right under and ran upwards in an agonisingly gradual fashion, past the knee and up the thigh. His face followed closely, grazing against her thinly veiled torso, before drowning himself in the crook of her neck. Her drawn-out sighs were like wordless poetry that hummed and vibrated in her milky white throat like a highly charged wire. Those small, slender fingers began to play with the band of his trousers, and he could barely suppress a startled groan when they found their way towards his burning length. She traced it back and forth, feeling it thrum with accumulating intensity, before retreating outward and trailing her hand along his spine, the back of his shirt already drenched in sweat. Frustrated that she’d left him hanging like that, he forced his trousers down just below his thighs, pinned her other hand with his own against the rug and began to thrust vigorously between her legs while the both of them were still clothed. She responded by lifting her free hand and clinging roughly to the back of his collar, letting out a beseeching whimper. While his lips were drawn to the loose tendrils of her hair like a moth to a particularly attractive lamp, she began to breathe in his ear, “I want you inside me.”

“What?” he panted hoarsely, following the labyrinthine trail that unfurled in all different directions like sun rays around her head.

“I need you inside me,” she said, her fingers peeling off his brown vest, before gliding back towards his waist. “I need _you_.”

All the pent-up desire and adoration and exhilaration inside of him were on their way to culmination, and the very simple but heavenly idea that she needed him more than anything emitted another low moan from deep in his throat. But something stopped him. The resurging heat beneath his abdomen begged for more, but the reasonable, rational part of him knew something that every other part of his restless body refused to listen to. He’d heard the stories about young people who acted too rashly, the ones who acted upon their primal instincts, the ones seduced by their own insatiability and unfulfilled passions for one another. Their elders and even their peers had spoken of these people with general disdain and abhorrence, as if they were rats breeding rats. He remembered Mary and how though her life eventually grew better in the end, she’d forever been burdened by what she’d done, a unique pain and shame that had been passed on to the unwilling product of her actions. Anne could not afford such a massive blow to her reputation as much as he could; she was unmarried, an orphan and a woman. He did not wish to inflict this eternal blight upon her life and have her give up every opportunity for one night of selfish indulgence. He couldn’t do that to her; he’d never forgive himself, and she might not ever forgive him either.

He raised his head and gazed mournfully at her. “I can’t.” _It’s far too risky, for both of us._

They rested together side by side on the hearth rug, glistening with sweat, their lips ripe with the blissful aftertaste of apple pie and each other. He brought her knuckles to his lips to kiss them tenderly before bringing them back down, and she gave him a soft-hearted smile. Gilbert then discovered in that moment that he was aching to please her, now more than ever; his very being alight with the jittery and jarring feeling of incompleteness. He flipped over and brushed aside a single curl plastered to her blood-infused cheek, before smoothing over the silk of her dress as his hand progressed down her stomach and towards her clit, where he proceeded to caress her gently. She exhaled deeply, and he took this as invitation to speed up. The more he stroked, the more she gasped and shuddered under him. When he withdrew, there were tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

“Don’t stop,” she begged him, “Please…keep going.”

By then his fingers were starting to drip with her wax-like juice, and so he lifted some of them and poised them for entry, her skirt pulled up. “Is this okay?” he asked her, and waited for a clear and coherent response before diving straight into her inflamed depths. They both simultaneously held their breath at this overwhelming intimacy, and he began to gradually extract his fingers out until they were halfway out before plugging them back in. This turned into a slow and systematic process, in which her entire body for once was at his mercy and his alone. Whenever he delayed going right back in, with the tips barely skimming the surface, she squirmed and pleaded, but he couldn’t be budged until she’d spelt some random word that he hurled at her correctly. It was somewhat ridiculous, but it kept her desperate and tense.

“Amorous,” he uttered huskily while rotating both thumbs against either side of her pelvis.

“A-M-O-R…Oh, God,” she moaned in reply.

The first time she climaxed, he’d used his other hand to squeeze her upper thigh as he plunged more swiftly and whispered into her ear how much he loved and wanted her. He assured her over and over that she’d never been more wanted in her life. Instead of wiping his fingers clean he slid them through the partially open gap between her soft, ingenuous lips, and she sucked on them tentatively. He then leaned down to lap up the remnants moistening her bottom lip, and found that he wanted more of it. So he moved his head beneath her abdomen, trailed his tongue downward and, with both hands clutching either thigh, planted his lips in-between.

She gasped louder this time at this unprecedented act, feeling the wet and warm sensation of his adept tongue slither around every corner of the passage within. He was both meticulous and methodical in his movements, despite the occasional stumble that rose from evident inexperience. At the same time he stroked the green silk that still encased much of her body, his nails digging deeper as he worked quicker, completely devouring her; in order to comfort and encourage him, she ran her fingers through the thick dark curls upon his lowered head, her initially gentle grip tightening progressively as the swelling multiplied tenfold. Minutes later she arched her back and bit back a cry of complete and utter ecstasy, already sensing the first wave of her sweet, sweet release ripple through her. She thought she could hear him mumble how good she tasted.

Fully dressed in one of Mary’s old nightgowns, Anne waited on the couch while Gilbert went away to rinse his mouth out. She held in her lap a book containing a wealthy collection of Walt Whitman’s poems, and drank in every word that strung together to create some of the most gorgeous prose she’d ever read. He returned still vestless and the top of his cotton shirt slightly unbuttoned, and slid down to the floor opposite where she lay on her side, enthralled by the book in her hands – one of his father’s most treasured possessions.

“I see you’ve taken pleasure in a new man,” Gilbert deadpanned at her.

“He writes so beautifully,” she enthused to herself without realising the little joke he’d made. “Whitman. I don’t know if I’ve ever heard of him.”

“My father used to have me read his poetry while he was ill. You wanna know how he first discovered him?”

Anne drew herself up, staring at him with renewed attentiveness. “Was it romantical?”

He smiled. “Very. It was around the time he first met my mother…”


End file.
